Untitled Heart
by araeo
Summary: 2-Shot for FGB in honor of LASMKE. "It's become habit, this visit, but I can't remember when I started needing it like air or water. I only know that since that day I found the first scrap tacked to the bench, I've been coming back to this place." AH, B/E
1. Chapter 1

I don't own _Twilight_ or _Annie_.

_Thanks to AmeryMarie and greeengoldfish for prereading and prodding when this didn't want to be written._

_This was my FGB piece in memory of LASMKE. I know she liked nothing better than a nice little mixture of fluff, funnies, a tiny bit of angst, and erm...well, you know. I hope I did it justice. Thanks to those of you who donated. Lisa would have been really proud, and I'm honored to participate in her name._

_For you, Lisa. I miss ya._

_

* * *

_

**-Untitled Heart**-

The early morning mist is chilly, and I tighten the belt of my raincoat as I head for the end of the pier. I'm afraid the wet conditions might make my trip useless, but it doesn't stop me from making this journey. It's become habit, this visit, but I can't remember when I started needing it like air or water. I only know that ever since that day I found the first scrap tacked to the bench, I've been coming back to this place.

They're always the same ― thick squares of heavy, cotton-strengthened paper; each is slightly frayed at the edges, and each bears a sprawling, masculine hand. His words are always beautiful. I like to pretend they're especially for me, and not just the work of an anonymous poet practicing some bizarre kind of performance art.

I don't know what will happen when he finishes his project here. Maybe I'll hire someone to follow me around with a trombone and make depressing sound effects at appropriate times. I'll become a real-life Debbie Downer. I'm already a sad excuse for a productive human being; the leap shouldn't be too hard. After all, I'm stalking some nut who leaves poetry stapled to a bench on the pier. Not to mention the fact that I had to move in with my mother and stepfather after finishing college...even though I've managed to earn a degree in half the time of most of my peers. Oh, yes, what a success story I am. But for the last two months, I've been working hard to get a job; and I finally snagged a gig as staff photographer at a little monthly community magazine for the Jacksonville area.

So what if it was a retirement community. My job makes a lot of old people happy, and that makes it suck a little less. So what if I'll be playing Jimmy Olsen to someone else's geriatric Lois Lane, though I secretly want to _be _Lois Lane someday. _Preferably before I become geriatric_. The photography aspect is also something I enjoy, though the pay isn't much. If I'm frugal, I can afford to move into my own place ― finally. I don't care how small it is. It would be _mine_, and that's the most important thing.

I shake off my thoughts as I near the bench, pausing to dig for my journal before I dare to let myself look for another scrap. I leave the camera inside for now, until I know for sure he's been here. Since I don't want to erase his work, I always put my photography skills to use with each piece. I love being able to see each one in his handwriting. It's one of the only ways I can keep a little bit of them for myself.

The other is the journal that's quite successfully hiding inside my bag. In it, I've written down all his words so far, and I'm practically salivating to know what he's written next ― if the chilly morning mist hasn't ruined it. But finding _anything_ in my bag is easier said than done, and this morning it takes me longer than usual.

When I finally grab the leather-bound book and start to look for my newest treasure, what I find is worse. There's nothing here. My heart sinks like a stone, trying to take a swan dive into my feet, and I realize I'm way too obsessed with this shit. Gracelessly, I sink onto the wet bench, not caring if I get my jeans wet. Raincoats are supposed to keep one dry, yes? This rain is _nothing_ compared to the soaking we got back in Washington state. I'm not made of sugar, and I sure as hell won't melt.

Hitching my hood a little higher for more protection, I settle in to give myself a stern talking-to. Mentally, of course. It's bad enough that I'm sitting in the rain with virtually no protection, but if I start talking to myself as well, people are going to call the police. Or the people in white scrubs that would take me away in a straitjacket.

Maybe I'll just peek at the poem first...that will make up for the missing scrap today. Reading it always makes me feel better. Clearly, it's another manifestation of my crazy-person status. I flip open the supple pages quickly, knowing exactly which one I want. Though the words aren't as aesthetically pleasing as they were in his handwriting, they're no less moving to me:

_Colorful curves lit by flame_  
_halo or glowing crown..._  
_Shining, burning brown_  
_against the pink spun candy sky._

_I can't believe_  
_and she can't see_  
_what she's done to me._

_She shows me her reflection_  
_her deflection_  
_Hiding and sweetly shy_  
_I long for her revelation..._

_So I wait, every day and night, I wait_  
_until the sun sets the clouds aglow_  
_She'll be there, I know_  
_against the pink spun candy sky. _

When I finish, I stuff the journal back into my bag to keep it out of the damp, feeling a bit better, despite my disappointment that I won't get any more verses today. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of black leather that's fairly out of place here in Jacksonville. It's sort of like giving a volcanologist a parka to wear during a caldera expedition. I smile at my own joke before I realize I've seen this jacket many times, but only in flashes ― the coat and its owner always disappear before I can get a really good look. This time, however, both are heading straight for me. And the closer they get, the more I like what I see.

Now if only I could get up the courage to look at his face. Because if the face matches the body, I'm a goner. _Train to Awkwardville, one ticket, please_.

"Don't look so unhappy," the stranger says, and his voice hits me low in the gut ― hell, who am I kidding ― it hits me in the lady business. "The sun will come out tomorrow."

I smirk at this, and his words trigger a snippet of melody that will likely be stuck in my head for the rest of the day. "'Bet my bottom dollar,' Daddy Warbucks?"

He cracks a smile and plops down beside me. How he manages to make this look graceful is mystifying. He's quite possibly the best-looking guy I've ever met. His strong jaw, gorgeously shaped eyes, and thick, brilliant hair combine to make one stunning specimen of a man. I note that he's got no rain jacket...I know his jeans will be wet when he gets up from the bench. My cheeks heat noticeably, and I'm definitely going straight to hell ― because I really want to know if his ass looks as good as I think it will in wet denim.

"Wasn't it Annie who sang that song?" he asks smugly, slanting me a look from under long, dark lashes. I can't quite discern the color of his eyes, but I know they're not brown like mine. They're infinitely more interesting than mine could ever be.

"Ahh, a man who knows his show tunes," I tease. _I can't believe I'm baiting him like this! Where is this brave new me coming from?_

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asks, his grin becoming wider and turning slightly crooked.

"Nothing," I return innocently, smiling. I hope my cheeks aren't as red as they feel.

"That's what I thought. _Annie _is a classic movie, by the way," he informs me. His cocky mouth should put me off, but it doesn't. If anything, it makes me want to needle him more, makes me wonder what else I can get him to say.

"A classic _musical_," I say softly, and damn it if my voice isn't sultry. Wow! Who knew I had it in me? He chuckles, and it warms me from the inside. I fight the urge to move closer to him, because I have an even more scandalous want: to sit in his lap and kiss that cocky grin off his face.

"Touche," he replies, and his voice curls in the pit of my stomach, warming me from the inside out. We both fall silent, the seconds lengthening to what seems like minutes as we sit there steeped in awkwardness once again.

_Say something, you moron!_

"What's your name? Or should I keep calling you Daddy Warbucks?" I blurt, hoping I wasn't making a fool of myself.

He laughs, thankfully. "Sorry, my name's not Oliver," he jokes, leaning closer in a conspiratorial fashion.

"Wow, you even know Daddy Warbucks' real name? Are you working with Miss Hannigan?" I shoot back, laughing as his eyebrows go sky high at my questions.

He scowls, and it's too attractive for words. "You seem to be quite knowledgeable about the subject yourself, you know. Don't tell me your name is Annie!"

"No, it's not," I concede with a grin, holding out my hand for him to shake. "I'm Bella."

"There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" he asks softly, taking my hand. "My name is Edward." Our eyes finally meet head-on, and his are a clear, piercing green that captivates me. His palm is scorching hot, making my skin tingle all the way up to my shoulder, and his hold isn't nearly nearly long enough. In fact, if his hand ever became permanently attached to mine, I'm not sure I'd mind at all. I start thinking about other parts of his body I'd like attached to me...which promptly makes my cheeks heat to five-alarm level.

Thankfully, he saves me from myself. "So what has you hating the clouds so much? It's not cloudy that often here...I sort of enjoy it. For a change of pace," he adds, shrugging.

I barely manage to tear my eyes from the shift of his shoulders beneath the soft leather of his jacket as I answer. "I'm from Washington state."

"Ah, that explains it."

"I love the sun, even though my skin doesn't appreciate it nearly as much as I do," I elaborate, giving in to the urge to smile at the knowing smirk on his face.

He leans closer, pretending to inspect my face. "I don't know...I think those freckles make you look cute." At his comment, I realize he's close enough that I can see he's got a few faint freckles of his own across the bridge of his nose.

"You, too," I say, trying valiantly to sound confident, and not like the pathetically shy, slightly anti-social girl I really am. I've never been more aware that I'm more comfortable behind the camera lens or keyboard than I am in this moment, and I hate myself for it.

_I will not ruin this! _

"Cute enough to let me take you out tonight?" he asks.

_YES! But wait ― I can't sound desperate_! "I don't know...we just met," I stall.

"True, _we_ only just met, but how long have you known Daddy Warbucks? He takes in orphans. Pretty trustworthy guy, if you ask me," he tosses out with a completely straight face, and I can't help it ― I laugh until I'm out of breath, and then...then I say yes and give him my number. We do the whole "call me, so I can save you to my contact list" routine, and I grin like a fool the entire time. When it's time for me to leave for work, I feel like it's been only minutes with him, not a couple of hours.

I've only been pretending to do my job for about thirty minutes before he calls.

-x-

That evening he takes me to a different pier, one with a huge Ferris wheel and carnival games. The ocean air is laden with the scent of salty popcorn, cooking oil, and sweet, sticky treats.

We eat greasy food and act like teenagers, talking the night away as we sabotage each other at balloon darts and other games of chance. When I finally manage to win one, I pick a stuffed Orphan Annie doll from the display. Edward rolls his eyes at this, but dutifully accepts my gift anyway and carries it for the rest of the date. It does nothing to diminish his attractiveness. Even the creepy white eyes of the Annie doll can't bring me down tonight.

As the carnival winds down, Edward drags me to yet another food vendor, the sweet scent of spun sugar wafting from the stand.

Turning toward me, he says, "Can't go to a carnival without having cotton candy."

"Of course," I laugh. "Because the corn dogs and funnel cakes and those disgusting fried twinkies aren't enough."

"Shut up! You liked the twinkie, too!" he argues, laughing right back at me.

"Of course I _liked_ it! It was delicious, fried, ass-inflating goodness. But I have to hate it on principle. They're already terrible for you _before_ they're fried. Don't they have a shelf-life of three years or something?"

"Oh, they're fine, Bella," he insists. "Generations of kids grew up on those things. They still do." He grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together. I love that he wants to make it obvious we're here as a couple.

"I just don't know how you could eat more," I say, putting my free hand to my stomach. "I'm sure my body is really pissed at me for tonight."

"Cotton candy is seventy-five percent air." He grins and squeezes my hand, and I melt a little.

"And the rest is sugar." I poke him in the belly with both our hands.

"Are you trying to tell me you don't want any of my cotton candy?" he asks as we near the counter, quirking a brow.

"Why does that sound like some sort of sexual proposition?" I blurt, causing the attendant to chuckle loudly. We just stare at each other, and the look he's giving me is hot enough to render me speechless.

After he purchases a giant sack of sugar, pink dye, and air masquerading as food, he tucks me into his side as we walk toward an empty bench. We settle in, and he attacks the plastic sack with enthusiasm, shoving a wispy chunk of pink stuff into his mouth. He's enjoying it with the gusto of a little boy, and I find myself staring his way with a dopey smile.

"You want some?" His voice is muffled a little by the cotton candy, and he looks so hopeful as he gestures with the bag. I take a small piece, closing my eyes as the flavor melts over my tongue.

"Thanks. I haven't had this in years."

"Me neither. It sort of reminds me of home."

"Where's that?"

"Chicago. I just moved here two months ago," he tells me, and it doesn't escape my notice that we both moved to Jacksonville at the same time.

"I thought Chicago was famous for wind and hot dogs, not cotton candy."

"No, I didn't mean Chicago specifically. It reminds me of being a kid, I guess, and going to the carnival with my parents." His voice is wistful and rich with memory as he offers me more pink fluff. I accept, pretending not to notice the way he watches me as I eat it, and he continues. "I think this might be better," he says with a smirk, shifting to wrap an arm around my shoulders. I raise an eyebrow at his obvious move, but we both know I'll let him get away with it.

"Your parents might not appreciate that." I steal another piece from the sack as he laughs and nods in agreement.

"My mother, definitely. My father, however, can probably appreciate the appeal of a perfect night with a beautiful girl."

I choke on the cotton candy in my mouth, ruining the moment. "You just can't say things like that to me...ever," I croak out, shaking my head at him.

"Why not? It's the truth." His smile is warm and instant, those green eyes pin me, and I'm lost again. He waves the bag in front of my face, and pouts at me when I refuse.

"What?" It's not like he made it with his own two hands.

"I was hoping you'd get some cotton candy stuck to your lip...and that you'd let me kiss it off," he tells me, slanting a sex-eyed stare my way. I can tell he knows just how cheesy his line was, and he's completely unapologetic about it. Maybe that's why I fall for it anyway. Excitement spikes through me, heating my insides and giving me a brief shot of confidence.

"Who says you have to wait for the cotton candy?"

His grin turns roguish, and I give myself a mental pat on the back. _Nice one, Swan. _It's all I have time to do before he leans closer, giving me little time to back away. Then his mouth is on mine, and it's better than I ever imagined. It's all soft lips and sugar-scented breath, but it's over before my brain can jolt me into kissing him back. He's frowning when I open my eyes, confusion coloring his handsome features.

Quickly, I reach up with one hand, curl my fingers in the hair below his ear, and guide his face back to mine. My kiss isn't nearly as elegant or gentle, but it feels just as good. I'm not sure there's such a thing as a bad kiss where Edward is involved. He relaxes and laughs softly against my lips, and I can feel his fingers tangling in the hair at the back of my neck. They pull and catch, and I know they must be sticky, but I can't bring myself to mind. When we end it this time, we're smiling ― until he tries to run his fingers through my hair.

"Oww!" I yelp, causing him to yank his hand away along with a few hairs, roots and all. At least I have the piece of mind to make sure my fingers aren't sticky before I rub them over the sore spot on my head.

Edward is profusely apologizing, sounding more and more panicked every second. "I'm so sorry, Bella! I forgot about the candy..." As he trails off, he hops off the bench, and I know what's going to happen before he does it. In seconds, he's running that same sticky hand through his hair, and I burst out laughing at his yelp of pain, in spite of the lingering ache in my own scalp.

"Come on," I say when I finally catch my breath, standing and grabbing his arm. Determinedly, I tow him to the nearest water fountain, so we can both clean our hands. The lukewarm water easily washes away the pink, sugary residue. I can't take my eyes from his face ― he looks so embarrassed, and it's adorable. He won't look at me as he cleans his hands, even when I clear my throat to get his attention. I'm forced to wave my still-dripping fingers in his direction, splattering him with water.

"Hey!" he growls, and I barely have time to close my eyes before I get some of my own medicine. "Shit, I didn't mean to get you in the face."

I roll my eyes at him. "You got me fair and square, Cullen. Own it," I laughingly reply as I plant one damp palm in the center of his chest, planning to give him a little shove. Those plans go down the drain as soon as I feel the heat and firmness through the thin cotton.

His cheeks are ruddy, making him look so young, and it hits me somewhere deep inside. Everything clicks, the world turns on its side, and I'm pretty sure an unstoppable force meets an immovable object somewhere.

_Holy crap._

Swiftly, he locks his arms around my waist and his open mouth lands on mine. He holds me so tightly that my toes barely touch the wooden planks of the pier, but none of it matters when his tongue swipes across my lower lip and into my mouth. I respond instantly this time, a little moan escaping me at the more concentrated taste of him. It's my first kiss, my best kiss, my last kiss, all wrapped into one.

Three things become glaringly clear: first, I never want to kiss anyone else for the rest of my life. Second, Edward Cullen is trouble of the best kind. And third...hell, the first two scare the shit out of me! Who needs a third?

-x-

When he calls the next morning to ask me to breakfast, I jump at his invitation, not even bothering to play coy. Over bacon, eggs, and toast, we trade tales of childhood and scarred knees and elbows. We sit on the same side of the booth, and his thigh is pressed firmly against mine underneath the table. It's a wonder we get any eating done ― he's so easy to talk to, I find my mouth is full of words more often than food. By the time we're finished, I've even told him my most guarded childhood secret: it was no accident that I "dropped" all those fish back in the water during my fishing trips with Charlie.

"I remember back when I went on a weekend hunting trip in Wisconsin with my brother and father. I guess I must have been fourteen. I missed the deer on purpose, and had to deal with Emmett razzing me about being a sissy the whole time," Edward reveals. He grabs my hand, since we aren't eating anymore, and holds it in his lap, his fingers toying with my palm. It tickles, but I wouldn't dream of pulling away when he's touching me.

"I think that's a very sweet story," I say, glancing over at him through my lashes, and I don't bother to hide my smile. "It says a lot about someone...the way they treat animals."

"You know, that's exactly what Dad told me after we got back."

"Your dad sounds like a smart guy." At the sound of his laugh, I turn my head to fully face him, and for a second, he watches me so intently that I'm sure he'll kiss me... And I'm right; it's just not the kind of kiss I want. His lips land gently on my forehead, but they _do_ linger a little bit longer than a friendly kiss would.

After a lengthy debate, Edward lets me take care of the check, since he paid for everything the night before. It gives me a little shot of pride, though I'm not sure why, but it only adds to his appeal in my eyes. I like that he insists on paying, but is still secure enough to let me do it in the end, because I want to.

_What the heck is wrong with me? I must have it bad._

Things were getting too heavy for this little diner, and I can feel the palpable weight lift as we walk into the bright morning sun. Though I'm glad to be outside, I'm not ready to leave him yet, and the invitation is out of my mouth before I can stop it.

"It's going to be a hot one," I say lamely, cursing myself internally. _A hot one? Nice, Bella._ "My uh..._parentsaregonetoday,_ and we've got a pool." My cheeks are probably burning hot enough to toast marshmallows, and I squeeze my eyes shut for a second. When I finally gather the courage to look at him, his eyes are nearly bugged out in shock and he's looking at me like I've grown another head.

"Wait a minute...your _parents?_ How old are you?" he rushes out, that hand going right to his hair and raking through it in that adorable gesture I remember from the night before..._wait! He thinks I'm _underage?

I burst out laughing so hard I have to lay one hand on his forearm for balance. "Edward, I'll be twenty-two in September," I assure him. "I moved back in with my mother and stepfather after college. To save money."

"Oh, thank God," he sighs, causing me to start giggling all over again.

"Why were you so panicked?" I tease. "All you've done is kiss me."

His eyes darken to forest green as he leans closer. "I'd like to do a lot more than that." I'm left speechless as he takes me by the hand and strides toward his car.

_I guess that's a "yes" to the swimming?_

-x-

We're cooling off in the shallow end of the pool an hour later, and I have to admit, Edward looks hot in Phil's swimming trunks. I stole his brand new pair, because sharing swimwear is like sharing underwear, and I don't want to make him wear someone else's chonies.

I take a sip of my second rum and Diet Coke while he watches me with a mock-disapproving eye, one of those brows raising in a sexy, stuffy expression of judgment. Ignoring him, I place the glass on the concrete. _Don't want to spill the drink when I splash him for being such a hypocritical ass._ After all, he's the one who mixed my little adult beverage. I toss water his way, forcing him to stretch up to hold his beer out of the water. Since we're in the shallow end, I have a perfect view of his abs and chest... _Where's that drink again?_

"Hey, watch it, you little lush!"

"Ooops."

"Oh, you sound so sincere. Payback's a bitch, you know," he threatens lowly, setting his beer to the side and starting toward me with a wicked grin. For a second, I get distracted by the way that smile hits me in the lady parts, and that's all the opening he needs, since I'm not exactly the most coordinated person on the planet.

I'm dunked before I know it, and water gushes up my nose in a stinging rush. I come up sputtering and cursing, wiping tears from my eyes as I sneeze violently.

"Oh, shit, are you okay? Sorry!"

_No, I'm not okay. I'm a coughing, snotty mess, and there's no way you'll want to kiss me now!_

I nod anyway, slowly getting my lungs under control. Okay...I'm a little pissed. A plan forms in my head, and I immediately put it to action. I wade over to him until we're almost chest to chest, but I'm just to his right. He's regarding me with concern, his head angled down at me from his superior height. I lightly rest my palm on his shoulder, trying to disregard the jolt of pleasure I feel at touching his sun-warmed skin. With my other hand, I beckon him down closer, like I need to whisper something in his ear. Slowly, I sneak my right leg around behind his heels, and when his center of gravity is off just so...

"Gotcha!" I swipe his feet out from under him, using my hand on his shoulder to propel him backwards. He goes under, and I immediately let go to start celebrating my revenge. He catches me, sending me a dirty look as he wipes the water from his eyes. At least he had the good sense to stop breathing when he went underwater. I cover my mouth with the palm of my hand, trying to stop smiling. "Sorry," I say, my voice muffled. "Had to try."

"I can respect that. I'll just have to keep my eye on you from now on." A wry smile twists his lips, and I wonder what it's all about. Not that I mind...he looks good no matter what facial expression he makes, but never more so than when he smiles.

_Sounds good to me. _I finally manage to contain my grin and lower my hand, raising it to shield my eyes from the sun as I look up at him. "I give as good as I get, that's all."

"I knew that from the minute I met you, Bella. I think it was the show tunes comment that did it." He turns away, wading to the wide steps to sit at the very top. Bracing his elbows on his knees, he crooks a finger at me, and I go to him like he's the Pied Piper and I'm a..._wait_. _Never mind_.

"Why'd you move to Jacksonville?" I question, reaching for my sunglasses so I can watch him and still remain somewhat hidden.

"Because I flaked out on taking the MCAT after I got my bachelor's. I thought my parents would be pissed at me...turns out they were more mad about me taking off than skipping out on the test."

"Can I ask you something?"

"If I say no, will that stop you?" he teases, reaching out to toy with a lock of my hair.

"Nope," I confirm, shaking my head. He doesn't let go, and the brunette strands brush against my cheek with the movement. "Why didn't you want to take the test?"

"Would you believe I'm still not sure?"

"Yes."

He rubs my damp hair between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes fixed on it, before he speaks again. "It's just...I know I'm good at that sort of thing. I feel like it will always be there for me, if or when I decide to give it a shot. But I wanted to try something else, because school is all I've ever done.

"Now, I wait tables and play my guitar on open mic night. I _am_ the hipster cliche," he jokes, his eyes warming as he looks up at me. I inch closer, telling myself it's because he's winding my hair tighter around his finger.

"Hey, I take photos for a senior citizen magazine."

"But you like it, don't you?"

"Yeah." I smile up at him, and his face is much closer than I remembered. "I do."

"I think that's what matters, right? You should like what you do."

"Do you like waiting tables?"

"Sometimes. I like the open mic nights more." He shrugs and pulls me closer. I can feel the heat from his chest now, and I'm standing between his knees. He lets go of the hair wound around his finger, and it springs free to hang between us. "I like the freedom of writing...songs, short stories... I've played the guitar since I was ten, so it was a natural progression." His eyes bore into mine, and I know he's trying to send me a silent message. It hovers just outside of my comprehension, but can he honestly expect me to think clearly when I'm so close to him?

"Maybe I could come and see you play sometime," I offer, hoping that's what he wants me to ask.

"I'd love to sing to you."

I legitimately almost passed out. Holy Christ. What girl didn't dream of having a gorgeous guy sing to her while playing a guitar?

Suddenly, I feel his palm coast over the curve of my hip, back and forth, as he leans closer.

"I've never been so glad my path led me here," he whispers, and then he's kissing me, his tongue flicking over my bottom lip. I lace my fingers behind his neck as his mouth firms against mine, forcing me to open to him. I meet his tongue with my own, sighing in pleasure at the taste of him laced with the slight bitterness of beer. Surging closer, I press my chest against his, loving the feel of water and warm, wet male skin.

My insides hum with excitement, and I just want to be closer, closer...I know I can't go another day without one of his kisses; I want to hear his laugh and see his smile every day. The skeptical part of me screams that it's too soon, but the rest of me knows he just might be my forever.

* * *

_But wait - there's more! Grab a snack, go to the bathroom, take your dog out, or just click next. :)_


	2. Chapter 2

**-Part II-**

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Sunday night, I wait nervously by the front door. I'm so anxious to see him after our less than twenty-four hour separation that if it wasn't so humid outside, I'd be waiting on the front porch. At least Mom and Phil are gone _―_ they left earlier this afternoon for a two-day road trip with his baseball team, and she can't be here to mortify me in front of Edward. My mother is merciless when it comes to embarrassing me in well-meaning ways, and I'm determined to avoid it altogether this time.

_Soon_, I tell myself. _Soon, I'll have my own place, and I can do anything I want. I can have Edward over for dinner. I can eat breakfast naked. With Edward... Edward, naked... _Several minutes go by, until I force myself to stop. I shake my head to clear the wayward thoughts and park myself in front of the television to pass the time.

By the time Andy Rooney and his eyebrows start their segment on _60 Minutes_, I'm so nervous I can hardly stand it. To distract myself, I imagine that Andy's _Guinness Book of World Records_-worthy brows are actually talking caterpillars.

When the first couple fights and threatens to quit on _The Amazing Race_, I start eying the antique clock that hangs on the living room wall. _Any minute now_... But when Phil regretfully informs the last couple that they've been eliminated from the _Race_, I start to worry.

_What if something happened to him? What if he's hurt and in a ditch somewhere? __  
__  
__Jesus, is this how parents feel when their kids are out past curfew?_

But an hour later, when the fanfare announcing the evening news blares importantly from the speakers, I start to get angry. Defiantly, I change the channel. _Screw the news...I need some happy. _

Even the Cartoon Network is at commercial. _I'm doomed._

I manage to keep the first tears away for another hour before the dam finally breaks.

_I knew he was too good to be true_..._and I fell for it anyway_.

All my earlier excitement is now churning into an acidic mess in my stomach, but it hurts no less than the heavy weight that's crushing my silly, gullible little heart. I wasn't sure what was worse _―_ the fact that he was obviously standing me up, or that it had come out of the blue. He never gave me any indication he wasn't as into this as I am...was..._shit!_ _Cue the tears again_. I think I cycle through this process at least three times before I finally cry myself into a fitful sleep, my face buried in the couch cushions.

I wake just before midnight to a ClayMation He-Man being violated by Skeletor on Phil's fifty-one inch flat-screen. I laugh for a moment at the desecration of innocent childhood toys, until I remember that I shouldn't be waking up from a nap on the couch to _Robot Chicken_ on the TV.

I _should_ be out with Edward...and he's nowhere to be found. Disappointment swamps me at the memory, and I decide that since I'm awake, there's only one thing that can make this better _―_ Renee's liquor cabinet. Thirty minutes and two drinks later, I'm back on the couch, watching more Adult Swim and on the verge of unconsciousness. The liquor has only made me mopey and tired, and I've been close to tears more than I can count tonight. I fumble with my phone, trying to see if I've missed any calls, but the Recents list won't load. Nothing will. Frustrated, I restart the whole thing, hoping that will fix its little brain fart. While I wait, I close my eyes and listen to the cartoon in the background, trying to think about anything but _him._

_Work. Apartment hunting. Work. Creepy, perverted Mr. Perkins at work._ _Ugh...I'd rather think about Edward the Unreliable than _that_ guy. _

My neck is stiff from napping and my head throbs with the remnants of a post-cry sinus headache. I'm miserable, inside and out, and my clothes are scratchy against my skin. One short stumble to my bedroom later has me digging through the closet for my designated PMS pajamas _―_ warm flannel that's worn soft with age and large enough to defeat any water weight. A relic from my high-school days in Washington, they've seen me through two huge breakups and my entire college career, but I'm doubtful even the Comfort-pants are going to put a dent in my sad tonight.

_Well, better I learn not to trust him now than later, right? If my feelings were any stronger..._

I can barely imagine something hurting worse than this. Mechanically, I change into the pajamas, ignoring the pretty little matching bra and underwear I picked especially for tonight, just in case I decided to let Edward round a couple bases. I leave them on as punishment for getting so insane over a guy in such a short time. Maybe spending the night with a wedgie will be a deterrent for this sort of thing in the future.

I stub my pinkie toe on the bed frame when I come out of the closet, and when I fall over onto the bed as I grab my injured foot, I stay there. I should probably stay in bed for my own good. If I'm not moving, I can't hurt myself, right?

-x-

A loud knock startles me awake for the second time tonight. It doesn't stop _―_ it's urgent, and someone's yelling my name, but all the sleep and liquor have left my mind a foggy mess. _What happened? Edward was supposed to be here by now!__  
__  
__Right. Edward. The one who stood you up._ _The reason your stomach is growling right now, because he never showed up to take you out for the swanky dinner he promised you_.

Rubbing at my gritty eyes, I stumble my way to the foyer, still not sure if I'm going to open the door or call the cops. He calls my name through the front door again, followed by three knocks that aren't quite as loud this time. His efforts are getting weaker, and I'm suddenly afraid he's about to leave. I yank open the door to see his handsome face warm with an expression of hope as soon as I make eye contact. _  
__  
__Well, hello there, gorgeous! Please don't mind me; I was just dreaming about your gloriously naked ― no! I will not let myself be this pitiful_. Giving him a stony glare, I cross my arms over my chest and wait for an explanation.

"You didn't call me back," he immediately accuses, scowling down at me. He's so tall he blocks out the porch light, and the light shining behind him almost looks like a halo. I can't help but snort at the thought, because surely he was the devil for crushing me the way he had tonight.

_He's_ mad at _me?_

"What are you talking about? You never called!"

"Yes, I did," he insists, pushing a huge bouquet of almost-wilted flowers into my arms. Stepping into the house, he shuts the door behind him with a loud click. "I left you three messages. There was a huge accident on the freeway and it took hours to clear everything."

Suddenly, I feel like a huge douche, because his appearance fits his story _―_ his clothes are creased, as if he's been sitting for a long time, and there are dark circles underneath his eyes again. Biting my lip, I reach into my pocket for my phone _―_ and realize it's not turned on. My cheeks flame red at his soft laugh, and I curse myself internally, staring at the flowers to try and center myself. After listening to each increasingly concerned message, I feel like an utter idiot. _All those bad things I thought about him..._

Swallowing hard, I explain, "I...I think I forgot to turn it back on."

"It's okay. I was just worried about you," he admits.

"I was worried about you, too. At first," I add. "Then I was a little angry." My stomach picks that moment to punctuate my statement with a want of its own, growling loudly. "And apparently, now I'm a little hungry."

Edward laughs, and just like that, the tension is broken, everything just as easy between us as it's always been.

"You brought me flowers?" I can't help it _―_ a girly, silly smile forms on my lips, and when I look up at him again, he's wearing a self-satisfied grin that looks ridiculously good on him.

"Yeah...do you like them?" He holds them up for me to take, and the scent of the flowers is _green_. They don't have an overbearing flower aroma, but just that of something living. It's clean and fresh and perfect.

"I love them. Thank you so much, Edward." I really did _―_ it wasn't your typical bouquet, and that fit _us. _Sunflowers of all sizes and shades, ranging from sunset-splashed gold to bright yellow, topped long, bright green stems that were only slightly sagging with dehydration. "Would you like to come in, while I find a vase for them?"

"Lead the way," he murmurs. I leave him with the flowers by the kitchen island while I search through the pantry for something large enough to hold the bouquet. I finally find the vase I need, but it's on the top shelf.

"Shit," I mutter, staring up at the offending glass in irritation.

"Need some help?" Edward asks behind me.

"You scared me!" I gasp, whirling to face him with a scowl.

"Sorry." He doesn't look it in the least. Taking another step forward, he asks, "Will you show me the one you want?"

_I think he's right in front of me._

I point to the tall, cylindrical vase made of heavy crystal, and he moves in to get it before I can get out of the way. I'm pressed against the shelves and his chest, and it's not a bad place to be. Instead of backing away from me, he just lowers the vase to the floor, slowly straightening and staying as close to me as possible.

It's not long before his hand is toying with my hair again, and when he lifts it to his lips, I can't breathe for a second.

"_Colorful curves lit by flame / halo or glowing crown... / Shining, burning brown_," he whispers, letting the hair sift through his fingers.

"How do you know those words?" I ask, trying not to let him hear my voice shaking. I'm in denial ― by the time he finishes the first line, things start falling into place for me. The cotton candy the first night. His admission that he was glad to be in Jacksonville because it brought him to me.

"How do you think?" When I don't answer ― I literally can't, because I'm too busy kicking myself that I didn't see it before ― he continues, but his voice is so soft that I can hardly hear him. "I wrote them, Bella."

I throw my arms around his neck, hugging him so tightly my toes leave the ground.

"Air," Edward coughs, making me laugh at the same time as I loosen my hold.

"It was you the whole time..." I finally whisper, my throat aching with the feeling behind the words.

"I feel like I've been waiting forever for you to figure it out," he says into the hair near my temple, and it's a hot, prickling rush of breath that I can feel all the way down in my toes.

"We've only known each other for three days, Edward." We both laugh softly ― me because it feels like so much longer, and I hope he's laughing for the same reason.

"I wrote the poem the first day I saw you. It began as just a way to get you out of my system. And then you kept coming back..." He sighs, pressing the side of his face against mine before pulling back to look me in the eyes. "I needed you to see it. I just didn't know how to approach you."

"So you've been giving me pieces of it ever since," I finish softly. "Edward...it's beautiful. No one's ever done something this wonderful for me."

"I have something else I'd like to give you," he tells me in that low, velvety sex-voice, and I can't help but gasp. Smirking at me like he knows what I'm thinking, he dips his head to cover my lips with his. Heat fills my mouth ― it's his tongue, and he tastes even better than before. His lips are hot, his mouth is wet, and his kiss doesn't ask, it takes.

"How crass," I murmur when he pulls away, and I thoroughly enjoy the way he growls at my comment. "But I still wouldn't kick you out of bed for eating crackers." He swoops in once more, as if to shut me up, and when he grazes his teeth over my bottom lip, I can feel it in my toes. He's never kissed me this roughly before, and I can't believe how much I'm enjoying it.

He laughs, ducking his head to drop biting kisses on my neck and shoulder. "Not _that_."  
His hips shift below mine, and I can feel the length of him pressing against the seam of my pants.

I moan and dig my fingers into his back. "Sure feels like it."

"Mmmm..." He pauses, blowing hot breath on my neck as his hard palms find their way to my chest. His hands cover my breasts completely, and when he squeezes, it's not too gentle or too rough, but just enough. "As much as I want to..._give_ it to you...it's so much more than that," he whispers. One hand slides around my side and tangles in my hair. Suddenly, he tugs my head back so I'm forced to look in his eyes. "I want to be yours."

The words shatter me, leaving me with no response. So I kiss him. Since he's holding me fast, I have to pull his head to mine; it's sloppy and desperate and shaky, and I can't stop myself from moaning into his mouth. He gathers me closer, his other arm curving tightly around my waist. My hips press without care into his until he forces me to be still. Soft, hot lips trail away from my mouth, landing on my jawline, and I feel his tongue swipe over the sensitive curve just before he draws the skin between his teeth. His five-o'clock shadow gently abrades my flesh, but the tingling pain only adds to my excitement. I let my hands start to wander, exploring the lean cut of his arms before trailing my fingers low on his abs.

Trailing one hand from his hair, I cross the firm lines of his neck, all the way down his chest, running my finger just under the waistband of his jeans. It makes him shudder and dig his fingers into my skin, which sends prickling heat rushing to the surface to offset the slight ache of his grip. I wait a moment, my hands still as I wait for him to relax. I can't be too impatient ― one wrong move could make him stop... While I wait, his lips graze the length of my collarbone, his breath scorching hot. The first button slips free, and I don't think he notices. The second follows quickly, and when I reach the third, my knuckles brush against his cock, cluing him in to what's going on downtown, but he's too late.

_Patience is overrated. Now's the time for action._

Lost in the heat I can feel coming from between the parted fabric, I push my hand inside and grip the length of him through his boxer shorts. His moan is loud and deep, and he rocks against my hand, once, twice. But then he stops, gripping my wrist.

"Here I am, trying to give you my heart, and all you can think about is getting in my pants," he laughs softly as he patiently removes my hand from his mostly unbuttoned jeans. I don't make it easy on him, and I count it as a silent victory when he lets me keep our entwined hands sandwiched between our hips.

"You want to get in my pants, too," I protest. _Oh, just stop talking!_

"You have no idea. I want that so much. But Bella...I'm falling for you. This isn't just a fling for me."

My breath rushes in and out a few times before I can answer. "Me neither." It's quiet and hoarse, and it's all I can do.

"Shit. We are not doing this in a pantry," he mutters, backing away and scrubbing his free hand over his face. He still hasn't let me go, so I step with him. _The pantry was working just fine for me...__  
__  
_But I follow when he leads me out of the cramped closet, and when he looks uncertain where to go, I point him toward the living room, because it's the closest place with a comfortable flat surface. He settles on the couch and draws me into his lap, and it's like we never stopped. His eyes darken with lust and something deeper ― the love he just admitted. He's still silent, and when I start to panic that my earlier answer isn't enough for him, I feel his fingers stroking trails up my inner thigh. Slowly, they inch to the apex of my legs, rubbing teasingly at the flannel. Our eyes lock and it makes me a little uncomfortable, but if he wants it that way, that's what I'll give him. I'm completely in tune with him ― he's the only person who's ever made me feel this vulnerable. With him, I reveal so much more than I ever have with anyone else.

Soon, my hips are meeting that delicious pressure of their own accord, and as the sensation rises, something happens: I start to relax, to give myself over to him. I know he can feel it ― I can tell by the way he watches me from underneath hooded lids and long, dark lashes. A sweet ache washes over me as he eases back on that slow stroke, moving his fingers up to toy with the drawstring of my pants. He gives me plenty of time to protest, but why would I dream of telling him no? The soft rasp of the bow slipping loose is music to my ears, and I close my eyes in anticipation, waiting to feel his fingers on my bare flesh. Waiting, waiting...and his touch doesn't come.

Before I can voice my disappointment, his lips land on mine, hot and supple, and his arm snakes around my back. I put both hands on his shoulders and concentrate on getting as close to him as possible. I wish, more than anything, that I was wearing something easy access.

_Damn me for being such a fucking tomboy. I just had to wear flannel pants, didn't I?_

Then his tongue flicks over my lower lip, enticing me to return the favor, and all types of pajamas are forgotten. I melt against him, opening my mouth to his so we can taste each other. With my legs spread over his hips, he fits perfectly, and the ache between my thighs blooms into bright and vibrant pleasure. I can feel his erection pressing against the best possible place, and as he thrusts upward, it almost doesn't matter that we aren't naked.

Come to think of it, naked would be so perfect I don't know if I can stand it ― I might explode.

But touching him ― that I can handle. Before I know it, my hands coast down over his back, charting broad shoulders and the strong muscles on either side of his spine. Beneath his shirt, I repeat the motion, my greedy fingers soaking in the feel of smooth skin and shifting muscle. I go higher, letting a fingertip brush his nipple on my way to his heart. It's beating hard and fast against my palm, and the realization that _I_ did this to him washes over me. It's powerful, this rush, if only because he's doing the same thing to me, and I know how it feels to be caught up in this web.

His arms and lips leave me and I want to cry out with the loss, but he's only unbuttoning his shirt. Faced with the sight of his pale skin from hipbones to chest, framed in an open dress shirt and a pair of mostly unbuttoned jeans, my mouth goes dry and I think I've lost the ability to speak.

Edward's soft, hot lips graze my jaw on their way down my neck as he slides his arms around me once again, palms flat against my shoulder blades. He pulls me up to his face, tracing the tip of his nose over the swells of flesh revealed by the neckline of my blouse. Heavy, humid breath raises goose bumps all over, and when he licks a trail over my skin, I bring my hands up to hold his head against me. He's warm and strong, his touch gentle, yet still demanding enough to send a thrill shooting down my spine.

His eyes meet mine in a clash of vibrant green, and the way he looks up at me makes my chest hurt and my stomach drop all at once. I can feel his pulse where his chest is pressed against me, and it mirrors mine. With one swift turn, he's got me on my back, and I sink willingly into the soft cushions of the couch as he settles atop me. His hips fit perfectly between my spread thighs again, and I lock my arms around his lower back. Long muscles shift beneath my hands in a subtle rhythm that feels heavenly, but I need _more_.

Like he can read my mind, one hand winds around my side, his thumb brushing the tip of my breast on his way up to slide the strap of my tank off one shoulder. Tugging the material down, he exposes the lace of my bra and hums at the sight of my nipple pressing against the fabric.

"You really should stop me." He's breathing fast, and it's as audible to me as my own heartbeat. I can't look away as he licks his lips and swallows heavily. "Did you miss dinner? You must be hungry," he rambles, without taking his eyes from my chest. In direct contradiction to his words, he leans forward, closing his teeth lightly over the lace, his breath coming out in a hot wash of air. My back arches in pleasure, and I know I don't give a shit about missing dinner.

"We can order pizza. Later."

He chuckles, loosening his hold and letting the pebbled skin slip through his teeth. I want that bra gone ― now.

"What about your..._roommates?_" he jokes, resting his chin on my breastbone.

"Gone until Tuesday."

"You really shouldn't have said that." I like the way he's looking at me. It's like he's plotting to explore every single part of me, making a list of things he can do to please me.

"Why?"

"It makes me want to take you to bed and keep you there...naked...because I know we won't be interrupted."

_Oh, Holy Christ_. "Sounds great to me," I manage to say, though I'm embarrassingly squeaky.

"You're not making it easy to do the honorable thing here," he sighs.

"Honorable is overrated." His only answer is a low groan as he shifts, inching up my body to close his mouth over mine. _Oh, good...he agrees. _We don't speak for a long while, until there isn't a thought in my head that doesn't have to do with sex or the man on top of me...or, more specifically, sex _with_ the man on top of me. I know he's thinking the same thing ― his opinion is quite obviously expressed by the hard-on tucked against my belly.

With shaky hands, I pull at the hem of my top, but he's so close to me I can't get it between us.

"Stop trying to take off your clothes, Bella," he chides, nipping at my already tingling lips.

"Then you do that part," I say right back as I run my hands up the center of his chest and push the halves of his shirt off his shoulders.

"I plan on it," he all but growls, sitting up as he strips the button-down from his shoulders before sending it flying across the room. He stays looming above me, on his knees, his face cast in shadow as he blocks the light filtering in from the windows. I'm suddenly cold in the absence of his warm skin, my nipples peaking into tight points of sensation against the thin lace, and I'm positive he can see the effect he has on me. He takes my hand, drawing me up against him, and I wrap my arms around his neck. The world shifts as he stands, his big palms curving under my thighs to support my weight.

"Where's your room?" he whispers, his words more of a kiss than speech. I point vaguely in the right direction, and he's off. We bump against walls and doorframes in his surprisingly clumsy rush down the hall, and we're both laughing before long.

When we finally make it to the right door, our laughter fades, leaving us wrapped in the silence and staring at one another. I'm left ungrounded as he watches me, untempered lust plain in his eyes, and when he finally decides to stop torturing both of us, he has us both on the bed in seconds. I don't even have time to take a breath before his hands are all over me and mine are all over him as he leans over me on all fours, kissing me like it's his only reason for existing. We're communicating through entwined limbs and tangled hair and soft breaths, and soon, he's settled between my thighs. With one hand, he raises the hem of my tank, using his other hand to smooth up my exposed flesh in its wake. Only breaking our kiss to pull the dark blue jersey over my head, he takes the time to ease the clinging fabric from my hair, using gentle fingers to untangle the long strands. The wait is worth it. When I'm finally free, left in my bra and pajama pants, he lowers himself back to the mattress. There's so much more to touch, to feel...he's heat and friction and hard, smooth flesh made to slide against mine.

His arms curve around my shoulders as he lowers his mouth to my neck, dropping a biting kiss just under my jaw that has me arching against his chest. Cool follows hot as he licks a short path to my collarbone, my body tingling until I'm vibrating like a tuning fork underneath him. He's my perfect pitch, my resonance, my anchor, and now that I know what it's like to be so close to him, I might shatter if we're ever forced apart.

Shifting lower on the bed, he brings one hand around and tucks his long fingers beneath the lace of my bra, tugging the material down to reveal my nipple. He repeats the process on the other side, and stares at me until I think I might explode. I take things into my own hands, literally ― I pull his lips down where I want them most, letting him hear my sigh of pleasure at the sensation of his warm, wet mouth closing over my pebbled flesh. Through the fringe of my lashes, he's a slow blur of movement and warm color, his clean, intoxicating scent wrapping around me like a vine...

He shifts again, until he's got one leg between mine on the mattress, and I'm left wondering what he's up to ― until his hand dips beneath my loosened waistband. Resting his palm right between my legs, he moves his mouth to my other breast, tonguing and sucking until both nipples are tender and red. It almost distracts me from the fact that lower, he's started rubbing in firm circles, coaxing me to open to him. I take one of his fingers easily, and when that's not enough, he adds another as his thumb presses down on the wet, swollen flesh above.

The dual sensation is intense, and the sight of his hand working between my legs beneath the pajamas is enough to send me over, muscles tightening on his fingers unmistakably as he murmurs hot words of encouragement in my ear.

As he eases me down, he whispers, "I want to do that over and over."

"But what about you?"

"Believe me, I'm really fucking enjoying this," he promises, rearing back to strip the flannels from my hips, taking the underwear with them.

_Well...who am I to argue with that?_

Shedding his jeans, he lies flat and pulls me to straddle him, the thin cotton of his boxers the only remaining barrier between us.

"Come here," he coaxes, using that soft, warm voice that's all sex and pretty, dirty requests. I do as he asks, and he lifts his head to nip at one nipple, his hands going around my ribcage to unhook my bra. It's gone with a snap of tension and a whoosh of cool air, and then he's pulling me down to lie on top of him, his mouth fastened to mine and his tongue working its magic. Those long-fingered hands cover my hips to hold me still, but he's got himself pressed right where I want him, and he feels so good below me that I just can't help myself. I work one hand in between us, slide my hand under the elastic of his boxers, and waste no time in wrapping my fingers around him. He stiffens and arches beneath me, sucking in a huge breath as one of his hands comes around to slow the movement of my wrist.

"Edward, let me, please," I beg, burying my face in the warm hollow of his neck. "I want this...I want _you_."

"It feels too good." His voice is ragged and breathy, and his neck strains against my lips. He still won't let me move my hand, so I touch him the only way I can: I move my whole body atop his in a slow, liquid wave that makes him moan. "Bella, I didn't bring any condoms."

"I have some."

"You do?"

I pull back to look him in the eye. "Why does that sound like a complaint?" He's silent for a good few seconds, obviously fighting back a grin, and I start to get a little miffed. I sit up and cross my arms over my chest for good measure. "My mother is..._progressive._ She made a big show of giving them to me when I moved back in," I explain, my cheeks flaming red as he bursts out laughing. It takes a while for him to stop. In reply, I roll my eyes and lean over to snag one from the nightstand drawer. My clumsy fingers drop it, and the square packet lands heavily on his chest. We both stare at the condom like it holds the key to the universe.

Hell, maybe it does.

"Remind me to thank her later," he jokes.

I lean forward, planting my palms flat on his chest, the foil square right between them. "I will not."

"I wouldn't want to be rude," he murmurs slyly, and it's then I know he's only teasing.

"You talk too much," I whisper, lowering myself until my lips are a few inches from his. "Surely you could find something better to do with that mouth." _Holy shit! Did I just say that?__  
__  
__Go me.__  
__  
_I drop my lips to his and slide my hands down his belly at the same time, managing to hook my thumbs in his boxers and tug them down past his hips. I can feel him, hard and unbelievably hot against my belly. My heart speeds up, my pulse pounding in my ears as that moment of carnal certainty crashes over me. We're passing the point where turning back is impossible ― and sex isn't something I've ever done casually. It's even more important tonight, because I've never cared for anyone the way I care for Edward.

The minute I feel him kick the boxers from his feet, he's pushing my hips back from his, urging me to sit up. I can't take my eyes from his abs as he follows me, the little square falling right into one of his hands. It takes him a while to realize I can't stop staring, and then he takes advantage. He wraps one big hand around his erection, slowly stroking up and down, and I can't help but gasp at how much his hand _doesn't_ cover.

_I must have been a very good girl in a past life..._

He hands me the condom. "Can you open this for me, please?" he whispers sweetly. "It's a job that requires two hands." He smiles, and it's so wicked my stomach wants to drop to the floor. I have it open in a second, ignoring the way the latex shakes as I hold it out for him to take.

"Here." My voice cracks, and I want to cringe. _So not attractive, Bella_.

He smirks, rolling the condom down over his length. I lick my suddenly dry lips, everything below my waist tightening with the knowledge of what's about to happen. "I want you so much," he tells me softly, one hand exploring between my legs as he pulls my hips to his. Gentle fingertips meet slick flesh, the touch teasing and light.

"I'm ready," I whisper, wrapping my arms around his neck. His only response is a soft, wordless groan as he guides my legs around his waist, pulling us so close that he's almost _there_, but not quite. He's close enough to glide right over that perfect spot, sliding easily over my slick skin, and it's hot and it's bliss but it's not enough. "Please."

He quiets me with soft words and kisses, folding me in his arms, his hands resting above my hips. With one slight shift, the angle changes, and he's _there_ ― he's inside me and it's perfect...and it's still not enough. I wonder if it ever will be. But I do know one thing ― nothing has ever felt this good. Edward and I just _fit..._we're dovetailed together like the strongest of joints. He guides my hips in a small circle atop his, forcing a gasp from my throat. Once, twice more, and it seems he goes a fraction deeper with every pass.

His kisses become more careless and less artful, everything slowing to match the tempo of our hips. Our breath mingles together, because we can't be bothered to separate enough to breathe. I begin to move in earnest as his grip loosens, rocking my hips against his until I'm out of breath with sensation and exertion. His mouth goes lax as he groans, dropping his forehead to my shoulder. Both of his hands slide around to trace my ribs, one staying to toy with my nipples and the other dropping lower, coating his fingertips in us. He knows just where to press his thumb to send me flying, and he wastes no time. Orgasm is almost upon me before I know it, but I'm not ready for this to end. My hips slow of their own accord, drawing a moan of protest from Edward.

"No, don't stop," he breathes raggedly. "Let me make you come."

"No, not yet. It can't be over yet," I whisper against his hair, my breath shuddering in and out of my lungs.

"Bella...baby...we've got all night, love, I promise. I'm not going anywhere." He wraps one arm low around my hips and starts to guide me again, watching his fingers as he keeps working me with blissful skill. All sensation rushes to one point low in my abdomen as my muscles tense one by one, the pleasure expanding inside me in one intense rush that has me crying out his name.

I'm on my back when I open my eyes to see Edward's verdant eyes staring down at me, his gaze dark and intense and possessive, and more than a little unnerving. He's still buried deep inside me, one of my knees resting in the crook of his elbow, making more room for his hips. It's like he's just been waiting for me to see him, and he starts to move, gentle at first but gaining speed and force.

"You feel so fucking good," he growls, forcing his other hand underneath my head and twisting his fingers in my hair. I can't stop touching him, and my palms wander all over the taut lines of his back and chest, urging him closer, closer. His eyes stand out so well in his flushed face, nearly glowing with their intensity. Faster and faster he moves, until his hips are pounding into mine with delicious force. His thrusts become erratic and his eyelids drop closed, and the color in his cheeks higher than I've ever seen it. "I'm gonna come."

It's nothing but a whisper, but I know what he needs. I hold him tighter, meet every push of his hips with mine, and the sight of his face creased in pleasure as he comes apart in my arms is branded into my memory forever.

-x-

A few condoms, one frozen pizza, and a bottle of wine later, we settle in for a nap, both of us in dire need of some rest.

"Bella?" he asks, rolling to face me, gathering me in his arms and twining our legs together.

I hum sleepily in answer, too caught up in enjoying the way he fits perfectly around my body to form actual words.

"Why did you keep coming back to the pier?"

I smile against his chest, and I can tell he feels it by the way his arms tighten around me. "When I first started finding your words, I recorded them in my journal in chronological order, so I could read whenever I wanted. I thought you were just a performance artist. But I had this fantasy in my head ― it was fun to pretend I had an admirer...and I imagined those words were written to me."

"They _were_," he interrupts softly_._ "No one's ever inspired me as you do, Bella. It's like that poem was waiting inside me the whole time...you were the spark," he whispers as he strokes a hand through my hair. "I'm sorry I took so long to approach you. I wasted so much time..."

"I still can't believe it," I admit in a shaky voice. "I'm afraid you're going to disappear.''

"Believe it. I'm not going anywhere. You'll never get away from me," he jokes darkly, his hand darting down my back and around my side. Not only are Edward's fingers perfect for..._other_ things, they're way too adept at tickling. The breathless adrenaline rush it gives me is so similar to how he makes me feel ― helpless and giddy and irrationally scared...and elated. I'm at his mercy as I giggle and squirm, but the sound of his laughter is so rewarding I don't mind.

-x-

My eyes snap open the next morning, eager to catch the sight of his head on the pillow. I've wondered what he'd look like lying next to me for what seems like forever, though we've only known each other for mere days.

He isn't there.

Instead, my journal is spread open where his rich, wild hair should be, his words glaring out at me like a final taunt as my heart sinks.

It takes me a moment to notice the addition.

I try to blink away unwanted but completely unpreventable tears from my eyes, really only smearing them across my cheeks in my hurry to see what he's written. There, underneath my transcription, are three more stanzas in that beautiful scrawl of his:

_I can't believe__  
__and she can't see__  
__what she's done to me.__  
__  
__Forever changed__  
__she's got me rearranged.__  
__  
__Now I believe__  
__and I hope she'll see__  
__what she's done for me._

Tears once again cloud my eyes, and I'm more confused than ever. _Why would he write this and leave?_

One salty drop hits the page, and it smears the rich black ink when I try to wipe it away.

Then I see it.

He's given it a title. A smile stretches my lips, and my tears become joyful. I start to hear noises from the kitchen and realize I'm not really alone.

Somehow I know I won't ever be alone again. My forever is just outside that bedroom door, and all I have to do is push it open.

I don't even hesitate.

* * *

_Sigh. The End._

_Thanks to everyone on Team LOL for pooling their hard-earned money to do something great in Lisa's name. I'm honored to have been part of it. _

_End note: I wrote the poem/song. I'm no poet, so if you thought it sucked, please feel free to sub your favorite love song/whatever. I couldn't find one I liked that fit well enough, so you got, well...me. And that's not fishing, it's a real apology.:)_

_As always, reviews are appreciated, but not required, and thank you for reading.  
_


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